


Something Like Paper Moon

by Your_Bones



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Gen, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Bones/pseuds/Your_Bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say twins, even if separated at birth, would always be drawn to each other. They'd lead eerily similar lives, always feeling like something... irreplaceable was missing. </p><p>That idea was, of course, nothing but overly romantic mumbo-jumbo meant to promote TV specials.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air in the terminal was stale and smelled funny, but even that didn’t stop Dipper from getting dangerously close to nodding off. He slouched over the backpack in his arms, his cheek resting against the coarse canvas as his eyes slowly drooped shut. There was a moment where he was almost asleep, and then, suddenly, something jerked him out of it. Just a foot or so from his ear, he heard this bright, lilting voice.

“Hey! What’cha doing? Isn’t it kinda late for a kid your age to be up?” A girl roughly his height had perched next to him on the grungy plastic bench, her feet swinging casually as she grinned at him.

“Wha? Who’re you-- I’m not a kid!” Dipper was definitely a kid, physically, but he was way ahead of that mentally! He was already reading at a college level!

“Relax, silly, I was joking! How old are you, then?” She was a pleasant-looking person, and oddly familiar; her face was shaped exactly like Dippers, and her hair color even matched his. The clothes were… hard to ignore. Her sleeves were different colors, and neither of them matched the rest of her jacket, while her skirt was an awful jumble of electric green and hot pink.

“Uh, I’m twelve…” Great-uncle Ford gave Dipper this long speech about not talking to strangers and staying put and always wiping down seats-- it wasn’t all relevant to this particular situation, but Dipper was still kind of on edge.

“Really? Me too! Weird!” The girl smiled again, showing off her bright, sort of crooked teeth as she grabbed Dipper’s shoulder. “So what’re you doing all by yourself here? You waiting for a bus too?”

“Yeah, uh… My uncle told me to watch the bags while he got our tickets.” His grip on the backpack subtly loosened. It wasn’t like great-uncle Ford’s rules applied to other kids, right? She looked like something from a 90’s cartoon wrapped in a fuzzy sweater!

“Looks like you’ve been here a while.” Dipper shook his head, trying to wake himself up. He hadn’t noticed the huge face print he left in the backpack, or the bags under his eyes, or the fact that he’d started to drool a little. “How about this: you take a break, and I’ll watch the bags for you!”

That offer admittedly perked Dipper up. It had to be at least forty-five minutes since great-uncle Ford left, and there was no sign of him coming back any time soon. “I-I don’t know, I’m supposed to stay put. I mean, my phone’s in there, and so’s my uncle’s work computer…” He had to talk himself out of it, no matter how paranoid it made him seem. There’s somebody counting on him, after all!

“I get it! It’s late, lotsa weirdos out. But you can get up for, like, two minutes, right? Get a drink, go to the bathroom.” Without asking, she tugged the big rolling bag over to her side of the bench, making a dismissive gesture at Dipper. “I got this. Nobody gets past me, alright?” Was she... trying to get rid of him?

“I… I guess. That should be okay. Even though you’re kinda… pushing me to do it. N-No offense or anything! I’m not calling you pushy! I’m just saying that pushing is kinda a thing you’re doing why am I still talking.” Dipper stood up and slapped his face, then started trying to stretch his back to seem more casual than he actually felt. He coughed to break up the awkward quiet, then tried again. “So, uh. What’s your name, anyway?”  

“Ma… Mavis.” Giving him another beaming face, the girl shook Dipper’s hand firmly. “Nice to make your acquaintance!”

“Uh, Dipper, same to you.” He started off down the cavernous waiting hall, glancing back at one point to make sure she was still there. She was, and she even waved at him when he turned around. Something about her made Dipper feel at ease.

 

\--------------------

“Holy cow, Stan! Look!” Mabel uncurled her hand, revealing a pair of tiny, immaculate gold studs. They were clearly custom made, with some kind of intricate, circular symbol etched into each of their polished surfaces. “Aren’t they weird? Who even has earrings like these?”

“Hold on, lemme see for a sec.” Picking up one of the accessories, Stan held it up to the bleary car ceiling light and smirked. “Those’re cufflinks, sweetie. They’re like, uh… rich old man jewelry.”

“Ohh.” Shifting so she could reach the floor better, Mabel pulled up the stiff, barely-used backpack and started digging through it absently. “So are you gonna keep those?”

“Do I look old to you?” Mabel opened her mouth to say something, but Stan immediately cut her off. “Don’t answer that. The right answer is no, but I’ll take awkward silence too.” Stan slipped the little gold pieces into his breast pocket before continuing. “Ooh, jackpot! You can never go wrong with electronics, kid!” He held up a shiny black laptop, the sides of its casing discolored slightly from many long hours of use.

“Sweet! What else have we got?” The backpack held little of interest to her: a wad of drab, hastily-packed clothes, a cheesy brass compass, an outdated phone and a strange book with a worn, dark red cover. Mabel disregarded all of these things, turning her attention instead to the fancier luggage Stan had spread out in front of them. In the empty parking lot where they’d stopped for the evening, it was safe to flaunt their spoils.

“Uhhh, let’s see, we got some weird books, buncha ugly sweaters…” Stan kept digging, though he paused to cram a particularly offensive green and orange turtleneck out the window. Pawing through the other side of the case, Mabel pulled a pair of leather gloves from the side pocket, holding them up and gawking in quiet disbelief.

“Woah! Grunkle Stan, lookit these! Six fingers-- this guy must be really good at piano!” Mabel squawked cheerfully, looking up at Stan with hopeful excitement for her find. Instead, she saw a strange, wild look creep over her uncle’s face. The kind of look that made him seem twenty years older. “Grunkle Stan?”

“That’s, uh… That’s great, kid. Stick ‘em back in the case.” He’d stopped rooting around in the bag all of the sudden, leaning back against the car door and folding his arms with a soft, weary noise. His eyes roamed out the window uneasily, drifting from streetlight to streetlight like he was expecting, or at least afraid of, someone suddenly showing up.

“What’s wrong? Did I forget something?” It wasn’t often Mabel pulled off a find like this by herself; maybe she’d missed some important loot!

“Wha? No, no, you did great. Don’t worry about it.” Stan sighed and stared out at the asphalt, and for a while, they were both quiet. Mabel flipped through one of the books halfheartedly, making a face at the grisly medical illustrations inside. She wanted to ask more questions, but she knew better than to try and wring information out of Stan when he got like this.

Just as Mabel was growing drowsy, Stan jumped, jolting Mabel awake and fumbling for the door locks.  

“Somebody’s coming! Stay down, I got this.” Pushing Mabel out of sight with a hand on her shoulder, Stan watched the window anxiously. Even from her hiding spot behind the passenger seat, Mabel could see a tall, broad person approaching the car, holding an object in front of him that she could only assume was a gun.

“Woah! Woah, hold on, buddy!” Stan barked in a tone that made him sound cool-headed, but his movements were tense and careful as he opened the door. She had to tell herself she was seeing things when he turned and she could make out his right hand inching toward his shoulder holster. “No need to do anything crazy! Just slow down, pal, we’ll talk this out.” That badly-faked placating tone made Mabel shudder a little, and she found herself channelling her grunkle as she started eyeing the backseat for something heavy enough to swing.

“I tracked my luggage here! You stole my…” The stranger’s voice trailed off, becoming almost shaky as he stepped forward into the sickly orange electric light. He was, well, for lack of better words, a near-perfect clone of Stan, from his stature to his features. Without the different hair and glasses, Mabel wouldn’t be able to tell them apart! “...Stanley?”

“...Ford.” Stan had evidently given up on the gun entirely, and their attacker, for his part, dropped the suspicious device to his side.

“What’re you-- why’re you-- you’re still--” ‘Ford’ fumbled for words, stomping toward Stan and raking a hand through his hair in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“...Like, here, or in general, ‘cause I can explain, I just, uh...” What was Stan getting defensive for? Stan didn’t answer to anybody! He bragged about that, like, at least once a day! Usually when he was filling his pockets with diner sugar packets or loading up the backseat with hotel towels, but still, it was a philosophy the man lived by. Seeing him go back on it was jarring for Mabel, to say the least.

“Like-- ugh! Get away from the car, I’m not going to shoot you or anything.” Stan’s clone stepped between him and the car, making Mabel uneasy. Against everything she’d been told, she cracked the door a little, peering outside while the newcomer had his back to her. She looked at Stan and held up a golf club cautiously, measuring his reaction to the universal signal for ‘should I whack him with this’. He shook his head rapidly, running a finger over his throat and gesturing for her to get back in the car. Meanwhile, the other Stan was distracted with something just outside the dim halo of light under the streetlamp. “Dipper! What’d I just-- what is with you and staying put tonight?! Is this a rebellion thing? Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No! What? No! You forgot the charger.” It was the same kid from earlier, still mousy and dishevelled looking, wide-eyed and nervy as he crept to the old man’s side. He held up a little black box, with blinking lights on one side of it: Ford looked at his gun and groaned when he realized all its lights were off.

“Ohh, for the love of… Just gimme that. And get back in the car. We’ll talk later.” The kid nodded and sheepishly took a step back, and that’s when Stan saw his opportunity.

“Now, Mabel! You take his little goblin there, I’ll handle this loser! Rough ‘em up!” Stan swung at the stranger abruptly, clipping him in the side of the head. Mabel leaped after the other kid, throwing her arms out and tackling him like a predator. He went down easy, rolling on the dirty asphalt and holding his hands up uselessly. The poor schmuck swung blindly, awkwardly banging his fists against anything he could reach. Though he got a couple good shots it, he’d clearly never been in a real fight in his life. Forced to abandon the clean-fighting grabs and punches, she resorted to yanking his hair and managed to pin him.

“Gah! Stan! Stop it! You’re acting--” Sitting on the nerd’s back, Mabel watched calmly as Stan kept grappling with this shady Ford character. They were pretty evenly matched, but Stan was determined to knock him on his butt and make a break for it. Like that time on Mabel’s birthday!

“Just drop it now, Ford! We’ll give you your stupid bags, just stand back and leave us alone!” Ford managed to work Stan into a headlock, and Mabel sprang to his defense, shaking her fist warningly at the other kid before freeing him to go help Stan.

“What’re you talking about?! I’m not gonna…” Sighing raggedly, Ford hung his head and glared at the ground. “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop. We can sit down somewhere, sort this out.” Stan stopped trying to dig at Ford’s ribs, pausing and frowning up at him warily.

“...What’re you saying?” He was actually considering it! Mabel didn’t fall for the same schtick; she might have had no idea what was going on, but she knew a bad time to let your guard down when she say one! She charged at Ford, only for Stan to hold her back by the scruff of her sweater.

“Let’s… get caught up, set things straight.” The tone he used, and the way he kept eyeing both Stan and Mabel, made it clear he was forcing himself to say these things. He didn’t want Stan to leave, for whatever reason, but he also apparently _dreaded_ levelling with him like this. “We’ve… got a lot to talk about.”

“You can say that again.” Ford let go of Stan, and he straightened up sluggishly, still halfheartedly restraining Mabel as the other kid went and hid behind his guardian’s trench coat. He cleared his throat awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with the other man. “So, what? The diner around the block?”

“...Sure. Just give us our bags back.” Once he’d pocketed his weapon, Ford seemed a bit less scary and more like one of those stuffy professors on TV. The kind who’s usually the butt of wacky pranks and hijinks to challenge his boring tyranny.

“Okay, but you’re buying.” Stan said it almost automatically, with a thin kind of humor to it that made it sound like he’d made that joke before under better circumstances.

It wasn’t that late yet, but Mabel had the feeling it would be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

It was like watching a conveyor belt, the kind that dumps chocolate over snack cakes and such. Stan would grab a handful of sugar packets, pass a few on to Mabel, and while she emptied them into the lemonade-tea-soda concoction she was drinking, Stan would go back for more and start the process over again. Dipper had watched this since they got to this restaurant, and he hadn’t seen it stop yet. It was mesmerizing; he wondered if they were the reason so many diners limit their free sugar. Absentminded and uneasy, he listened to uncle Ford talk to his weird, shady lookalike.

“I still don’t think we should discuss this in front of children.” Across the table from him, Mabel sat with Stan, sticking her tongue out with intense concentration as she worked.

“Hey, anything you wanna say to me, you should be willing to say around your carbon-copy there.” Wait, was he talking about Dipper? He didn’t look anything like Ford! Of course Dipper looked up to his uncle-- he was the smartest person he’d ever met-- but he was old! And stubborn! And he had this really bad habit of holding onto subjects long after they’d stopped being relevant to anything… Dipper was really digging himself deeper and deeper into this mental hole, wasn’t he?

“So is this guy, like… your cousin or something?” Mabel smiled up at Stan expectantly, and it was the exact same look she’d given Dipper back in the bus station. Either she was really good at lying, or robbing him blind was just a spur of the moment sort of decision for her. Dipper wasn’t sure which idea intimidated him more.

“Nah. Worse.” Stan was a shabby, imposing kind of guy-- he was the spitting image of uncle Ford, except Dipper couldn’t really picture Ford stealing napkins or insulting a waitress with his mouth full.

“I’m right here, you know.” Drumming his fingers on the table, Ford watched him impatiently; he clearly had a lot to say about something or another, but Stan seemed to be in no hurry to get down to business. “You really didn’t tell her anything, did you?”

“Didn’t need to. It’s not like I was expectin’ any help from you, after all.” With Ford, Mabel and Dipper all staring at him, Stan finally gave in, crossing his arms on the table and glaring at the grungy tile floor. “...He’s my twin brother. Long story.”

“Yes, it's... complicated.” Ford folded his arms, too, making himself look like a bitter mirror-image of the man across the booth from him. They were both quiet for a moment, eyeing each other coldly, when Mabel broke up the stillness to flop over across the table, scootching forward until she was close enough to grab Dipper’s face.

“Woah, that means we’re related! Cool! We’re cousins! Or, like… third… fifth… thirty-fifth cousins? I’m not sure how that works.” Dipper struggled to push her away: his will to keep some of his dignity was strong, but Mabel’s nailpolish-smeared mitts were stronger.

“It just makes us second cousins-- seriously? Can you let go now?” Planting his hands on the table, Dipper pulled back stubbornly until his neck was buried in his collar like some kind of horrible cable-knit turtle.

“No. You’re twins, too.” Ford’s tone was flat and low. That made Mabel drop him-- it made Dipper sorta drop himself, too, smacking his jaw on the table before scrambling to sit up again. He got his bearings just in time to catch Stan gawking at his uncle, who continued before he had the chance to interrupt. “There’s no point hiding it anymore! It was a bad idea to begin with!”

“All my ideas are bad ideas according to you!” Stan leaned over the table threateningly, and Ford got up to match him. On instinct Dipper shied away from him, and Mabel, on her side, scooted away from Stan as well. She tugged on Dipper’s sleeve, pulling his focus away from his uncle’s growing argument.

“Psst. Did you hear that? ...We’re twins.” Mabel gave him a wide-eyed look, breathless and stunned, and Dipper could only assume his face wasn’t much different. ...Literally. He started to say something, but the words kinda failed him, and his voice turned out as a weird, high-pitched squeak. Even though he could barely hear himself think over Ford and Stan barking at each other, he was still pretty absorbed in the notion that he had a sibling-- a living sibling he’d never met or even heard about! It was bizarre to him, and growing up in Gravity Falls, he’d seen some pretty weird stuff.

“I, uh… this is awkward. It’s awkward, right?” Dipper laughed nervously, running his hand through his hair and shrinking back against the cracked imitation leather.

“Super awkward. Grunkle Stan always said we didn’t have any family! This is twice as much family as I’m used to having right now.” She laughed uncomfortably, fiddling with an empty sugar packet, and that weird little gesture made her seem more familiar than ever before. It sort of felt like Dipper was sitting across from that old silver mirror in the stairwell back home.

 

\--------------------

 

It was like looking at herself with no glitter gloss and shorter hair-- Mabel wasn’t sure how she’d missed it before! Shouldn’t they have had some kind of psychic link to tell them when they met their secret twin? Even though she was confused and, honestly, kinda upset with Stan, Mabel was mostly just excited. She’d always kind of envied twins; the girls who looked exactly alike and could always do each other’s hair and wear matching clothes. Something told her that it might be tough to get Dipper to go along with that, but hey, they were twins. They could work something out!

The notion of Stan hiding things from her was nothing new, all the way up to the  ex-wife story. But she had a brother! A freaking twin that she’d never even heard of before! Mabel was gonna give Stan such a talking to when she stopped being thrilled, in maybe a year or two.

“So we’ve got nothing to talk about! Let’s just call it a night and get the kids out of this crummy place.” They’d already gotten into an actual fistfight earlier, there wasn’t really anywhere to escalate to. Stan’s tone was rough, quiet but furious. Sure, Mabel had seen him yell at plenty of people, but she wasn’t used to seeing him this kind of mad.

“Well I feel like I have to do something to keep you from running away again!” This Ford character seemed just as tense as Stan, and Mabel’s crazy sorta-clone seemed just as uneasy as she was. He kept eyeing Mabel in bursts, the way a cat or a squirrel looks at somebody they want to approach, but are also pretty scared of. She wondered if she could win him over with cheese, like she did with the raccoons. Then they’d be best friends, right?

“Again?! Look, you don’t get to-- you have no idea what I’ve been through!” Stan’s face was getting red in frustration. Mabel frowned and quietly touched his arm, tipping her glass dangerously close to spilling as she tried to coax him into sitting back down. Normally she’d just let him rampage in hopes he’ll terrorize enough managers to get them free stuff, but at this rate, he was going to give himself a heart attack!

“I’m not accusing you, if anything, I’m asking you nicely. When I go back to the motel tonight, how am I supposed to know you won’t be gone by morning?” Ford kept a steady tone, even as Stan tried to cut him off. “Listen. There’s more than one reason I’ve been looking for you two.” Mabel froze, paying such close attention that she barely noticed when she started dumping super tea all over Stan’s shoes. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice either. “Truth is, there’s been some… problems down in the lab.”

“Thought you could figure out anything, poindexter.” With no food of his own to pretend to be interested in, Stan stole a handful of fries from Dipper’s plate. Dipper, suddenly bug-eyed and cagier than ever, did absolutely nothing to stop him.

“It’s not… We just need as many hands as we can get right now, and truth be told, I’d like to keep it in the family.” Wow! Family! That idea was still dizzyingly strange to Mabel… Stan, on the other hand, sure seemed to be listening. “...I need your help, Stan. You’re the best person I know when it comes to keeping a secret. So what do you say? Will you come back to Gravity Falls, no strings attached?”

Stan glanced around uneasily, looking at everything but the other people in the booth. After a stiff, loaded pause, he finally answered. “...Lemme sleep on it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I take a long time to update, it's only because I have so much tweaking to do between the initial draft and the finished version. Shoutout to my editor/best bud for putting up with all this shit!


End file.
